


you, baby

by kokirane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokirane/pseuds/kokirane
Summary: “The sun is in your hair,” Shiro says. He brings up his hand, rests it against Keith’s lip. Pulls where it’s still sore from their kiss. “My love.”





	you, baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avi.doodles](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=avi.doodles).



> secret santa gift for avi.doodles! used her art style as inspiration for descriptions :) please check her work out, she's LOVELY!

December brings a change to the Garrison. 

To Keith, December means snow and hot chocolate in a purple thermos with  _Takashi Shirogane_ scribbled on the bottom. Yeah, it’s been a while since he and Shiro have had that, but it’s what he likes to think about. Christmas at the home wasn’t unpleasant, per se, but it wasn’t  _warm_. And if Keith understood it right, that’s what it was supposed to be. Whenever they watched the snowfall, Keith bundled up in Shiro’s old clothes and by his side, Keith was never cold. How could he be, with Shiro next to him? And since Shiro was the type who really got into the whole ‘twelve days of Christmas’ thing, Keith always got twelve presents. 

(Their last Christmas on Earth was: a pair of gloves, a Hallmark card, two CDs, a set of paint, a canvas, a set of brushes, three textbooks for the next term, a chocolate bar, and a sprig of mistletoe. The real gift: the kiss that came after.) 

They hadn’t been able to keep up with holidays in space. Keith hadn’t expected them to. Time wasn’t about months up there. It was the next mission, the next fight. The next time that he could see Shiro. 

Seeing the Garrison sparkle, though, Keith can’t help but hope. It’s not just the decorations: everyone’s mood seems to be lifted. Especially Shiro’s. 

(Shiro, coming to meetings in ill-fitting Christmas sweaters. Shiro, belting out carols in the shower. Shiro, putting ribbons in Keith’s hair. Shiro, Shiro,  _Shiro --_ ) 

Keith can’t stop his smile, or the laugh that it blooms into. He used to try and deny himself these thoughts of Shiro, but after nearly losing him -- he holds onto them tighter than ever. 

They’ve saved each other. He can have this. 

This year, he didn’t get Shiro twelve things, but he has one that he hopes will make up for all the rest. A part of him wants to carry the ring around wherever he goes, but he doesn’t know what he would do if he lost it. It’s luxite, a little something from Krolia. So he can’t keep it on him, but he can scurry to where he has it stashed whenever he can. It’s always there, but Keith still holds his breath until he can know for sure.

 He’s about two ticks away from the ring now. Anxious, he drums his fingers against his thigh. A few beats in, he realizes it’s to one of those Christmas carols that’s been blaring over the speakers intermittently. Humming, ( _I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know_ ) Keith ducks into his room. 

There’s a loose floorboard under his bed. It used to be home to whatever his wolf liked finding, but now it houses one tiny box, and inside, the sleek band of luxite. 

“Purple, like you,” Pidge had said when he had showed her. “How cute.”

“I was thinking, silver like him,” Keith had mumbled. “In the light. It kind of changes color.” 

And so it does. He turns it between his fingers, watches it shimmer. He can see his own face, pinched and thin. 

He can’t help but sigh.

* * *

 

Christmas morning has Keith trying not to spill hot chocolate down his arm. He’s got ahold of two purple thermoses, but his hands are shaking so bad he can’t quite pour properly. But he gets it done, adds in marshmallows, and heads to Shiro’s room. 

Shiro’s already awake. When he sees Keith step in, a slow smile stretches across his face, like the way honey blurs into tea. Shiro pulls Keith into his lap, teeth sinking into his lip as he watches Keith find his balance. Arms around Shiro’s neck -- straddling him -- Shiro’s arm around Keith’s waist while metal fingers stroke his hair -- grinning, Shiro pulls him into a lazy kiss, and Keith feels his stomach turn. Suddenly, the box in his pocket feels like it’s burning. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Shiro croons into Keith’s neck. He punctuates his words with kisses, all over Keith’s collarbones. 

“Let’s, uh, go watch the sunrise?” Keith suggests. He has a Plan, but he’s forgetting it with the way Shiro’s lips are moving against him. The Galra have nothing on this kind of attack. Shiro’s quiet poison. 

“Sure,” Shiro says. “Were you gonna go out without a jacket?”

 “Uh--” A Christmas sweater is shoved over his head. Keith is pretty sure it’s the one he hates, the one with the bedazzling all over it. Yeah. It is. 

But Shiro’s smirk is too damn cute, so. Whatever. Keith’s gonna have the last laugh. He pulls Shiro close, a thrill licking up inside of him, and kisses him deep. Slow. A promise. 

Shiro’s cheeks turn pink. Keith raises an eyebrow, flashes a smirk of his own. “Let’s go?” 

“Y-yeah.” 

Shiro’s hand floats ahead of them with the thermoses, so Shiro and Keith can link fingers and walk. The halls are empty, but the lights are still on. Spots of gold dance above them; if Keith squints, it’s like Shiro has a halo. 

“Hey, look,” Shiro says, spinning Keith around. “Mistletoe.” 

There isn’t any, but they stop, press close. Keith has to stand on his toes to kiss Shiro like this, but it’s worth it when Shiro bites his lip, and pulls. Shiro’s kisses are dark pupils and swollen red, addicting and filling in a way nothing else can be. 

(Before Kerberos, Shiro bit hard enough to leave a scab. Keith would run his tongue over it, and remember.) 

“C’mon,” Keith whispers. They go out into the biting cold, and once Shiro turns to the horizon, Keith gets down in the snow. It crunches slightly; Shiro doesn’t seem to notice.

 Cold shoots up and shudders through Keith’s body. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Opens and looks at Shiro, up against the winter sky: all blue bleeding into yellow, a smattering of fading stars -- and snowflakes, slowly drifting down. They dissolve in Shiro’s hair, turning it a dark, wet gray.

He’s beautiful.

 “Shiro,” he says softly. “Takashi.” 

Shiro turns, and his mouth parts silently. Keith’s breath is coming quick, and not just from the cold. Steam gathers around him. His heart goes for one tick, then two -- 

Shiro smiles. 

(Pink lips white teeth  _breathtaking)_

“Keith.” It’s not hesitant, the way Shiro speaks. He knows. He knows, and he reaches out his hand. There’s the glow of his arm in Keith’s periphery, but all he can see is that outstretched hand. Shiro’s always reached out to him. Always, and forever, and Keith reaches back. Raises the ring; light shines on the band. A quiet, little blessing. 

“Shiro,” Keith says, “will you marry me?” 

“Yes,” Shiro whispers.

 Keith slips the ring over Shiro’s finger, reverent. He goes slow, maps Shiro’s calluses and creases and scars with the band. The luxite gleams against Shiro’s skin; it’s got all the beauty of its own galaxy in it, or maybe that’s just because it’s on Shiro. It’s that soft  _yes_ forever. 

Keith stands, slowly, still gripping Shiro’s hand. Shiro’s got this soft, melted butter gaze. A little wet, like he’s going to cry. 

“What?” Shiro whispers, brushes his lips over Keith’s forehead. “What’s that face?”

“The way you’re looking at me.” Keith swallows. “I--” 

“Been like this for a while,” Shiro murmurs. “You haven’t noticed?” 

“I think maybe I have.” Keith runs his thumb over the ring. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling shy  _now,_  but at least one thing is the same: he’s never cold around Shiro. “I don’t know.” 

“Good,” Shiro says. “Because I love you.” 

“I love you,” Keith says, “more than anything.” 

“Baby.” Shiro draws him close, as close as they can be with these clothes, but fuck, Keith wants to be so much closer. He wants the heat of Shiro’s skin to set him totally aflame, to hold his face and pull him down and kiss him and have nothing separating them -- 

“The sun is in your hair,” Shiro says. He brings up his hand, rests it against Keith’s lip. Pulls where it’s still sore from their kiss. “My love.” 

“The moon is in yours.” Keith presses a kiss to Shiro’s fingers. “Or the snow.” 

“Snow?” Shiro sounds distracted, like he’s forgotten where they are.

(Does he feel it? The heat?) 

“It’s falling.” Keith looks up at the spiralling snowflakes, but when his gaze flicks back to Shiro, Shiro’s still looking at him. 

“So am I,” Shiro says. “Been like that for a while too, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, “I know.” 

And their lips meet, again and again, as the sun paints them gold.


End file.
